Statistics and Magic
by Lyra Harp
Summary: Brokk, a college kid from Nevada, isn't doing so good. His girlfriend left him for a beach in Florida (like there isn't enough sand in Nevada), and he has a statistics project due tomorrow that he hasn't started. After using magic, he manages to get help. From Prowl. The toy version. Did I mention that this was a parody? OC story


**Disclaimer: **I do not own Transformers, Glee, Death Note, Dragon Ball Z, Thor or logic...I definitely do not own logic. Logic owns me. PWN! ...Yeah, coffee. It happens. Read? What a delightful idea! How do I do that? Oh, wait, you...? Okay. Got it...And you all thought I put 'parody' for giggles.

**Warning (s): **Statistics? What language are you speaking? That's my way of saying that I don't get it...so please don't judge me if you do and want to say: "Wait, what...? That's not real!" I know! XD I like messing with stuff.

Also: This one-shot has no order. Confused? Don't worry...It'll all make sense after the first three paragraphs...or it won't...You decide!

...

Did I mention coffee?

**Side-Note: **

Brokk ~ "Old Norse myth name of a dwarf who, along with his brother Eitri, made magical objects for the gods, including the hammer of Thor."

~0~

Statistics were killing him. Period.

He had a project that wasn't a regular one. A regular project was something that a teacher gave a class a month to do. His teacher gave the class the whole semester. So he should have been super prepared, right? Wrong. To Brokk, his Statistics class was the black hole of all things math related. He dared think, at times, that he didn't breath in the class. Brokk cursed himself the hour after the deadline for dropping out...and every hour after that. Everytime he thought about that class it felt like Starscream was frying his brain with electricity...Okay, so that was melodramatic. He was good at drama...and magic. He wouldn't get a name like 'Brokk' if he wasn't.

That was another thing. When your parents want to name you after a character from a fandom, don't let it happen. Send Karma or Unicron on their afts, because you'll be teased for the rest of your life if you don't. Sure, they'll be freaked out, but a little scare never hurt anyone...unless that scare was a statistics project...then it was time to panic.

He wished that he could do his final project on 'It's Over 9000!' Crossing school with anime seemed like a good idea...until he thought his brain would explode. Nine was officially his pain-in-the-aft number. He was never watching Dragon Ball Z again. The not-a-real-movie movie helped with the loss. Nothing could have saved that movie.

Although, he still didn't feel like anything could save his social life. That ended after anime and transformers...Wait, did it start...? He didn't know anymore.

Ever since he hit 'the awkward years', his social life went down hill. He was hot stuff in elementary, but middle school just all-around sucked...for everyone. Once high school started, and he accepted his 'loser' status (with a capital L, thank you Glee and Death Note!), he was alright.

Now he was in college and everything sucked again. He had a part-time job as a behind the scenes guy at a local theater. His parents said he belonged _on_ the stage, which he agreed with...but would never tell them that. He said he did it for the cash.

Anyway, his girlfriend in high school went to Florida, and he had this pit in his stomach that told him it was over from the moment she left the state of 'ghost town' Nevada. The fact that the cats outside his window yowled in the middle of the night like they were possessed, oddly enough, made it okay with him.

He would leave, too, except...Well, when he had parents who collected toys that were worth hundreds of dollars but refused to sell them...The policy of his family was 'if you love it, make it happen.' In other words, 'work until you can't no more, because that's the only way you'll get anywhere. Sorry, bud.' As much as he pretended to act like his parents annoyed him, he did love them. He just questioned their sanity more often than he probably should be allowed to legally.

Speaking of toys being legal...and science...and magic and theater and drama and all of the rest of it...He got Prowl. Apparently, his dad had seen him watching the Generations 1 Movie from the eighties in the living room at two in the morning. They weren't supposed to find out that he was into Transformers! His friend treated any sort of geeky merchandise like school-yard-oh-my-goodness-when-did-we-become-chicks porn. It was amazing, and he wanted part of the amazing.

A month later, after he had gotten a D+ on his first statistics quiz, his dad had sneaked into his room when he was _not-staring _staring at something online. All his dad did was wink, hand him the toy, pat him on the shoulder and say, 'good luck.'

After he had been caught not-staring, he couldn't do anything other than nod. Once he calmed down after his initial that-just-happened moment, he opened the box, cleaned his desk, and put it in the middle. He stared at it for a few minutes, admiring the G1 paint job and hating the Animated frame. He still loved the thing, but G1 was superior in his mind.

It wasn't until he failed the first test of the semester that he panicked. When he panicked, he locked his bedroom door, locked his bedroom windows, shut the Blackout curtains, and he pulled out his trusty 'magic cape and wand' set that he had had since he was ten. After he had 'set the mood' by turning off the bedroom lights, turning on his lava lamp and placing Prowl in front of said lava lamp, he said a few words. For a guy who was supposed to be an expert magician, he had a feeling that that the imaginary 'creative judges' in his head were facepalming they were so bad. In his defense, he was suffering from college-level-oh-triple-scrap desperation. To his knowledge, no other desperation was higher.

After staring at the toy for several minutes, he huffed, turned on the lights, put his magic set back under the bed where it belonged, and threw the toy out the window.

His miserable life turned into a real-life-oh-quadruple-scrap situation when Prowl knocked on his window at four in the morning with a branch sticking up from his head, asking if it 'was really necessary to throw him from a two-story building into a tree.'

He rambled like a completely-sane-person for several minutes. He said: 'I know that it was terrible I'm sorry and look I know this is sudden but since you're here and, well, alive could you be my motorcycle you could stay in the garage it's really nice in there and I can wash you if you would just talk with me sometimes actually alot and help me with my homework and life and stuff because I really suck at that and, well, I'm a huge fan so I know this is weird and creepy but I would be honored and can this happen please Prowl sir?'

He had been so surprised when Prowl had blinked at him and answered, 'yes' that he passed out. Also, food...and water. He hadn't had those in...longer than was probably recommended by his doctor. His mother had asked him why he was sleeping in the garage at seven in the morning...and when had be gotten a motorcycle? His father wanted to know, too. He ended up sitting at the dining room table after breakfast. They stared at him until he told them that he had won it from a contest online.

He didn't know if they ignored the possibility that he may have stolen it, or if they were high on something when he told them that, because they acted like he had won the damn lottery and told them he was joining the circus (seriously, they would have been thrilled at that). Prowl, understandably, had been confused when his mother had brought home a cake that evening. He blushed, and coughed out something along the lines of, 'better get used to it.' He would have said that they were aliens, but thought that that might have been a tad offensive. Prowl wouldn't have gotten the joke, anyway. The only reason why he didn't glitch whenever he talked about Thor or anime was because he related it to sciency things. For Thor, he talked about 'the theory of lightning,' which he hadn't known had been a thing. Prowl made anime more complicated than it needed to be. All he knew when he started talking about the mechanics was this formula: _Computer _plus _Math_ divided by _Science_ plus _Anatomy_ equals _His Brain Hurting_.

He lifted his head to look at his 'Statistics Project Guidelines: You can do anything you want! Use your imagination!' He didn't want to use his imagination. He wanted to throw all the work that he ever did in the class in a fire and call the ashes 'Black Beauty'. He groaned. His brain hurt more now than when Prowl tried explaining anime. He could actually feel his brain burning!

"I do not understand how groaning will help you solve your mathematical equations any faster."

"It doesn't. I'm expressing how much it sucks." Brokk looked up at Prowl, who blinked at him from his window. "Would you-?"

"No."

"You didn't even-"

"I knew that you were going to ask me if I would be willing to do your project for you. I am not."

"Why not?" He groaned. "I suck at math."

"Plagiarism is still in play across Toy Land." Prowl tapped Brokk's head. "And you should not have taken mathematics if you did not feel like you could handle the work load. It is highly illogical and masochistic otherwise." Prowl narrowed his optics. "Are you-?"

Brokk blushed. "No! I'm not masochistic. I just..." Prowl raised an optic ridge. "I wanted to challenge myself. Is that so bad?"

"It is when you are reduced to groaning before you even begin the process of brainstorming."

"Yeah, well...math does that to me-"

"Obviously."

"-but it's not my fault! Some people just naturally get this stuff. It's like they have a math and science gene...Unfortunately, not all geeks have that gene."

"You should not think lowly of your intelligence." _I wasn't, but thanks for the pep talk._ "An IQ of one hundred is nothing to be ashamed of."

"Well, thanks, but-" Brokk lifted up his head. He used his desk as a catapult and rested his feet on the edge. As he leaned back, he squinted at Prowl. "How do you know what my IQ is?"

Prowl looked from Brokk to his computer. "I took the average of IQ tests in this area, considered the probability for your ideals and-"

"Nevermind."

"This could be useful information for your project."

"I am not doing a project on my IQ. That would be masochistic. It's at least narcissistic."

"Would it not be more prevalent if you chose other specimens-?"

"I'm not doing that. Doing it on IQ sounds...cruel. It'll sound like I'm mocking the IQ system."

"There are multiple reports that suggest that the IQ tests are untrustworthy." Brokk stared at him. "Have I shorted out your mainframe?" Brokk shook his head and pressed the palms of his hands against his eyelids. "While your carrier would no doubt suggest aspirin if you are having a headache, I believe the 'chamomile tea' would be more effective."

"I can't do that."

"I assure you it is most effective-"

"Not that. I'm having tea-just black."

Prowl tilted his helm. "Black tea is the strongest amongst the tea groups. You will be awake for hours-"

"It's just what I need." Brokk smiled at Prowl's expression. "It's just what I need because _you're_ going to be up all night helping me with this project. I'm going with the IQ thing."

"You said it would be insensitive-"

"It's the best option I've got on short notice."

Prowl narrowed his optics. "How short?" Brokk scratched the back of his head. "If you do not tell me, I will turn back into an immobile object until after the deadline-"

"You what?" Brokk told himself his voice sounded like thunder instead of Mighty Mouse. "You can turn back-at-at any time? Why didn't you tell me?"

"You are attached to my character. The loss would produce an emotional reaction."

"But how-?"

"If you tell me how long you have until the deadline, I will tell you how I know how to transform."

Brokk rubbed his temples. "You had to turn on your tactician programming _now?_" Brokk mumbled. "Ten hours." Brokk winced when Prowl turned into a statue. _Please don't glitch. I can't handle the cops, neighbors and my parents right now_. "You don't have to worry about my other subjects...I did everything else just to ignore math."

"You told me it was due next week."

"I didn't want you riding on my aft to get it done when nothing else was."

"It is my job as a tactician and your guardian to help elevate undo stress."

"So set your tactician processor to work on 'time management.' Help explain all of this IQ math scrap to me. We have to get this done before seven."

Prowl sighed. "Very well. The first thing that you should note is normal distribution"

~0~

"I don't completely suck at math!" Brokk slammed the paper against the window with a grin on his face. "Ha! Take that, math gods! You can't have my soul!"

"Should I be concerned for your sanity?"

"Not unless happiness counts as sanity."

"Actually-"

"Don't. I'm too tired to listen to more of your statistical rambles."

"If I recall, those 'statistical rambles' saved 'your soul.' Or is it your aft?"

"Aft, soul-Whatever. I don't care. I passed. Just never-"

"Frequency distributions are the equivalent of-"

"Prowl, no!" Brokk slammed his hands over his ears. "We went over this! I never-!"

"_If a doughnut shaped house has two doors to the outside and three doors to the innor courtyard, it should be possible to end up back at your starting place by walking through all five doors of the house without ever walking through the same door twice_-"

Brokk blinked. "Prowl?"

"Yes, Brokk?"

"Do you want me to buy a dozen donuts to thank you for staying up all night?"

He nodded. "That sounds like a fair trade."

Brokk rolled his eyes. "I'll be out in five."

"Seconds, minutes, hours-"

"Do you want donuts or not?"

"Would you like to know how toys come to life?"

_Dang it. _"Maybe..." Prowl stared at him. "Minutes. And make it ten." His wings sagged. "I have to find my wallet." Prowl's wings fluttered. He lifted the wallet up. "You...suck."

"I can." Prowl's smirk made Brokk want to open a portal to Primus and ask him: _Why? _Wait, could he do that? He should do that...after donuts. He shouldn't travel into another dimension until he had food in his stomach. Ratchet would hurt him otherwise.

Brokk jumped into Prowl's servo. "Don't kill me in my sleep."

"Don't get sprinkles."

"Fair enough."

~0~

Brokk gaped at Prowl as he licked the glaze off of his digits with his glossa. "If you see something you like, you should go back inside and buy two dozen more."

"I think I'm going to have to." Prowl looked down at Brokk. Brokk stared at the mini-Drift figure in his hand. "If what you told me is true, this guy might really come to life and kill me in my sleep if I don't get his other buddies." Brokk looked up at Prowl. "How come you aren't crazy by now?"

Prowl shrugged. "I'm a re-paint, not an original. Only the original's lose their processors if they aren't part of their whole collection."

It was at this moment that Brokk fully appreciated his parents obsession with toys.

~0~

**A.N. **Confused? I thought so. Was it entertaining? If you say, '_I don't know what is this?_' I'm cool with that. XD

By the way, that '_donut question_' was from a real IQ test. I was very amused because it was the last question. I wonder if people who make those tests get so confused writing them that they just say: Screw it. This is all crack anyway. People will be glitching all over the place by now. What's one more insane statement?

Also: In case you don't know this and live in the Philippines, Dunkin Donuts has Bumblebee, Optimus Prime and Drift figures for you if you buy a dozen donuts...until June 30. Why does Nevada have this deal? 'Cause I want those figures to be sold here too. *Pout*

Also: Prowl plus Glaze equals Hot Cop.

Also: Coffee. Goodnight everybody!


End file.
